11. Zeke
Trish rode beside me in the truck without speaking a word. Her back was ramrod straight and her expression rigid as she stared through the windshield. As I drove, there was not a single person walking the sidewalks. A shiver passed down my spine to see a major thoroughfare in the Neon so deserted. And so dark! The moving shadows cast by the headlights were jagged and long. I was glad to arrive at the warm, lit glow of the hospital entrance.
"To the very doorstep," I announced. Several people dressed in scrubs and white coats rushed toward the truck. As soon as they realized I was delivering Trish instead of a wounded patient, their tired faces changed to relieved smiles and they retreated, huddled together in the pool of light by the hospital doors like it was an island of safety and sanity.
"Thanks for the ride," Trish said, not looking at me as she climbed out of the truck and shut the door.
I debated between comforting her and keeping my word to Cole that I wouldn't say anything. In the end, I rolled down my window. "Trish, there's something I think you ought to know."
She turned toward me, eyes fierce. "Zeke, I know when you two are hiding something. Either tell me now or don't, but whatever you do, don't feed me a line of bullshit."
I swallowed. There was too much to say. All the words I thought of would sound unreal if spoken aloud. "Come on now, Trish..."
"Exactly as I thought. Thank you for at least having the decency to not attempt another transparent misdirection. You were always a bad liar, Zeke. Let's hope you're better at keeping an eye on him this time."
Where was the smiling, kind-hearted Trish of a week ago?
"I'll... I'll do my best."
"I'm counting on it." Then her voice softened and the corners of her eyes seemed to sag with weariness. "Look, I appreciate your being there for Cole. And for me. With all that's happened, I don't know what to think." She glanced upward at the nearly-full moon. "It's crazy..."
"I don't think we know the half of it," I murmured.
But she was already walking back to the hospital, swept into a protective swirl of coworkers.
I was not surprised to find Cole gone when I arrived on the roof again. I'd taken the time to salvage a television I'd seen lying in the gutter earlier. Hooked up to one of Cole's batteries, it powered on nicely. I fiddled with the old-fashioned rabbit-ear antennae, managing to turn the static snow storm into the occasional flurry.
With a satisfied grunt I lay down on the couch and caught the tail end of a Voice of Survival broadcast. The guy was saying something about how he'd been contacted by a representative of a group calling themselves "Reapers." They'd demanded he issue an on-air warning to all other gangs that the Neon was Reaper territory. Remembering the dead body in the alleyway, I hoped Cole was staying clear of whatever men could have done such a thing as murder, leaving the corpse in the open as a calling card. I decided to add fortifications to the roof and fire escape first thing in the morning.